The Rose
A caterpillar ran along
my bedroom floor and rested there
my kitty cat mewed it a song
and up it sent a yearning stare
I picked it up, the crawling thing
all green and wobbly and naive
"my thorns beware because they sting"
I said and paused fearing he'd leave.
The kitty looked up from below
and shook my stem to make him fall
but he held fast and she lay low
then shivered as she heard me call:
"Darling," I said, "don't be so grim,
my rosy perfume is for you
as much as for your brother, dream,
for cats and worms I'll be a rose
prickly and motherly and true."
Copyright © Archontoula Alexandropoulou | Year Posted 2013
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